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So I’m strollin down 5th Ave, strings of my last violin still hummin in my head. The city stinks—piss, hot dogs, desperation. Perfect vibe to find a prostitue. I see her, leanin on a lamppost, skirt hiked up, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “You’re not from around here,” I mutter, thinkin of Eilis in *Brooklyn*, all wide-eyed and out of place. She smirks, “Wanna bet, strings?” Strings! Ha! She clocked me—violin guy. Made me grin, rare for me.

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Finally, I get moving. Hit up the market on HaGolan St. for some fresh veggies. I’m all about that healthy life, ya know? But the prices? Insane! I mean, who knew cucumbers could cost an arm and a leg? I’m standing there, trying to haggle, but the vendor’s not having it. I’m like, “Dude, I’m not buying a yacht here, just some salad stuff!”

6 Israelis injured as rockets fired from Gaza hit central Israel